Talk:Fanfictions/@comment-24867771-20150112022146
EESM Aaron (involving Johanna, Emelia, Brenna, etc.) ---- two hours before. The earth was crackling, ear-splittingly loud, and the air was thick with the taste of ash and gunpowder. Aaron's ears screamed in protest at the sudden disturbance, the thundering of war softened almost into melody as he stumbled uncoordinatedly across the floor. He could tell what had just occurred by the sheer size, noise and the peculiar blue colour of the explosion; the flames had reached his basement. It was strange seeing the remnants of his creation swallow the castle whole in multi-coloured billows of smoke. Flames of various sizes licked the walls. Students shrieked in terror and spread like scared rodents, running far away, anywhere but here. The grass felt charred and crumbled beneath his hands. Blood trickled down from the corner of his eye and dripped from his chin. His lungs felt like they were imploding. ---- one hour and ten minutes before Sweet Jesus, the heat. A slick sheen of sweat covers every inch of skin on every single terrified soul. A sheen of blood follows swiftly after. He can't find Emelia. He can't find Johanna. He can't find Alfe, Oskar, Shan, Eve, anyone. ---- thirty minutes before. Aaron never wanted to see the sight that graced his eyes. It was his fire. His face that charred her skin black. That ate away her flesh, leaving her as raw and red as his leg had looked after a previous situation which was now causing stinging pains of deja vu. He didn't want to outlive her. He never wanted to. He collapses onto his knees by her side, careful not to touch her and cause her any more pain than she is already in. There was nothing he could have done. The blue flames ate everything in their path, and unfortunately, Emelia had been. As the smoke fills her blistered lungs, Aaron could've sworn she'd croaked out a final sentence. It's weak and each word obviously sent pain shooting through her but she's determined. Something about how ironic this is. How poetic it is. Something about the burning train and the burning office and now they were - Her words give out long before her heart does. ---- one minute before. "Alfe, for fuck's sake, just spit it out!" The sobbing, heart-broken creature before him is something Aaron is not used to seeing. The young man's words stumble from his tongue, a clumsy hybrid of Italian and German and English and something else Aaron doesn't recognise. Hysterical rivers swim down his cheeks. "It's Ohana," he mumbles, chewing on his bottom lip as he attempts to compose himself. "Sie ist tot." "English, please," Aaron almost snaps, eyebrows furrowed in concern and what is obviously bad news. "She's dead. Johanna's dead." The world stops. His world stops. ---- ten minutes after. Aaron knocks three times on the blood-stained office door and waits patiently for a reply. "Enter," comes a cold, yet slightly shaky voice from the other side of the wood. He opens it slowly, appreciating every creak and squeak from the hinges. "Ah, Mr. Leppala. I hope you're proud of yourself." His expression stays as emotionless as it has for the past twenty minutes. Not a single flicker of anything shows in his eyes. He doesn't twitch. He doesn't breathe. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wand, before pausing. The wand falls to the floor. A tattooed leg kicks it away. He won't need it. "You're wasting your time, Mr Leppala," the voice says, but all trace of confidence has disappeared. It sounds more like a desperate plea. Like an animal cowering in a corner as the slaughterer approaches with an axe. Like someone who knows they've been defeated. Aaron closes the door and locks it shut. ---- thirty minutes after. The door creaks open. It's silent inside. Aaron steps out of the room, swiftly slamming the door shut behind him and allowing the noise to ricochet down the burning corridor. He retrieves his wand from the path of some rogue flames approaching sneakily, and tucks it back into his pocket. He looks down at his arms. Black with soot and ash. He looks back at the door and presses one ear against the wood. No noise whatsoever. Good. It was over. He wishes it wasn't. He wishes she could suffer forever. It's a few moments before he notices the single spot of blood, blossoming like a poppy against his ash-stained white shirt. Damn, he thinks to himself. Should've been tidier. ---- one day after. It's amazing to think that something which glowed with fire and hell merely twenty hours ago could be so hauntingly peaceful. Aaron sits cross-legged on a blackened piece of rubble, the only sign of life for miles around, the wind carrying the remaining smoke and ash away. It's a biting wind. Aaron thinks it's the ghosts of the numerous people who died last night. It's them trying to get rid of the past. He takes a long, drawn-own swig from a bottle of neat vodka, the burn coursing down his throat not even comparable to the pain he was currently feeling. He didn't know it was possible to be in such unspeakable agony, yet also be completely and utterly numb. He looks round. He can't see anyone, floating or not. "Emelia?" he speaks. The first word he's said all day. His throat is still thick with smoke damage and choked-back tears. No reply. "Emelia!" Nothing. The wind whistles, loudly. A familiar scent envelops him. It's incredibly brief but it's sweet and it makes him feel better for one second. "'Anna?" he barely whispers, to nothing and everything in particular. But then the smell is gone, replaced by smoke and melancholy, and all it does it remind him of how swiftly she was ripped from him. "Johanna?" he repeats, his voice breaking on the final syllable, gulping back his tears. He knows that if he cries he'll never stop. He isn't going to cry. "'Anna, say something. Please. Anything. Just say somet-" he can't finish. His head drops into his hand, the bottle falls to the floor. He can feel himself being watched. He doesn't care. "I love you. Don't forget that, okay? Don't you ever fucking dare forget that." He says it to what is probably thin air, but he doesn't care whether she's here or not. As long as she knows. He stands up, kicking the bottle away with his hands in his pocket. The school's more peaceful that he's ever seen it. Isn't that strange? The school was only ever at peace when everything had died.